


Threat Assessment

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Kinktober 2018 [17]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Honeypot Missions, M/M, Size Kink, Sort Of, au where harry is still kingsman but merlin is not, basically harry is a slut and merlin is probably not a megalomaniac, little bit of dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 20:38:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Merlin had warned Harry about him. “He’s clever. Just about everyone has tried to recruit him at least once – on both sides. But he’s never allied himself with any of them.”“And we’re concerned because…?”“Because we think he’s planning something. That kind of intelligence, directed into some sort of passion project, could be incredibly dangerous.”Harry had raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “So, he’s equally likely to be the next criminal mastermind or the saviour of the human race, and you want me to, what? Find out which one?”





	Threat Assessment

**Author's Note:**

> Day seventeen was seduction. Ironically, I think this involves some of the least seduction I've ever written. Oh well. I hope you like it, because I'm actually rather fond of it.

Harry idly turned the page of the newspaper he wasn’t reading, glancing up over the top of it every minute or so to check the mirror. Reflected in it, several yards behind him, was his target.

Merlin had warned Harry about him. “He’s clever,” she’d said, not even bothering to look up from her monitors. “Just about everyone has tried to recruit him at least once – on both sides. But he’s never allied himself with any of them.”

“And we’re concerned because…?”

“Because we think he’s planning something. That kind of intelligence, directed into some sort of passion project, could be incredibly dangerous.”

Harry had raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “So, he’s equally likely to be the next criminal mastermind or the saviour of the human race, and you want me to, what? Find out which one?”

“Your mission will be to find out what he’s working on. Friendly chatter says no one has gotten anywhere close to it. You will acquire those files, Galahad. By any means necessary.” Still without looking, Merlin pulled a briefing out of the file cabinet beneath her desk and slid it across to Harry.

He flicked it open, eyebrows lifting higher, cocking his head in interest as he examined the photo provided. “Any means necessary?”

Merlin rolled her eyes. “You have been cleared to make this a honeypot mission if you think it appropriate, yes.”

Harry had licked his lips, a fox-like grin spreading across his face. What he was thinking about one Ian Grey was not appropriate in the slightest.

The café Harry was currently staking out had been listed as one Grey frequented in the evenings. According to their information, he’d usually hole up in the corner for a few hours, drinking coffee and working on his laptop, and he wouldn’t leave until the doors closed around eight. Today, Grey had walked through the doors at four, after Harry had already been there an hour, and Harry had spent two more hours pretending to read his newspaper and watching Grey.

He glanced away from the mirror again, eyes flicking absently over the politics section, and startled when a hand landed on his shoulder. His eyes flicked up, and in the mirror he watched as Grey bent over and whispered, his breath hot against Harry’s ear, “I know you’ve been watching me.”

The low Scottish brogue made Harry shiver. He cleared his throat and Grey released him, head tilted calculatingly. Harry went for a flush, ducking his head in a facsimile of shyness. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be rude.” He folded his newspaper, placing it gingerly across his lap. “Allow me to buy you a drink? Make it up to you?”

“Or,” Grey suggested softly, a predatory gleam in his eyes that should have looked contradictory, given his almost cuddly attire – and really, no one should look that attractive in a jumper – but only managed to look more dangerous and, quite frankly, arousing. “We could go back to my place.”

Harry balked, like the idea was absurd. “I don’t even know your name! I’m hardly in the habit of going home with strangers, and-“

“Ian,” Grey interrupted him. He offered out his hand, which Harry took hesitantly, intending to shake. Instead, Ian covered it with both of his. “My name is Ian. What’s yours?”

“Anthony.”

“There, you see? Not strangers.” Ian grinned, baring his teeth. “Come home with me. I know that’s all you’ve been thinking about since I walked through those doors.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong, which made the whole thing that much more difficult to fake. In his ear, Harry could practically hear Merlin’s eyeroll as she said, “Just go with him, Galahad. He’s making it easy for you.”

“Well,” Harry managed, sounding like he’d swallowed his tongue. “I suppose…”

Ian pulled him to his feet, the newspaper sliding to the floor, abandoned. Harry’s eyes flicked briefly to Ian’s laptop bag as he adjusted it over his shoulder, and then he allowed himself to be drawn outside. Ian whistled for a taxi cab before turning back to him. “Don’t worry. It’s not far.”

Harry shifted listlessly in the taxi, aware that Ian’s eyes were piecing him, and finally he said, “I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”

“Fucking men?”

“I’m quite well-acquainted with ‘fucking men,’ although it usually happens that they’re the ones fucking me. I was referring to going home with strangers I met in the middle of the afternoon in a coffeeshop.”

“It’s not afternoon anymore,” Ian pointed out, nodding towards the setting sun outside the window. “And I promise you, I’ll make it worth your while.”

A thrill went down Harry’s spine at the suggestion.

Ian’s home was hardly what he expected. Merlin had said isolated genius, and Harry had expected something large and minimalistic, maybe with a couple of pieces of modern art and no colour. Ian’s flat was about the size of Harry’s own, perhaps a bit smaller, and it was filled with an eclectic mess of technology.

“I’d offer you something to drink,” Ian said casually, toeing off his shoes and indicating Harry should do the same. “But I think we’d both prefer to move straight to the bedroom.”

It wasn’t an act when Harry blinked in surprise. He’d had plenty of practice seducing targets on honeypot missions, but never had a target needed less seduction, nor been so blunt about their intentions. Most people at least attempted to act coy, even when they were being vulgar, but Ian sounded almost like he was discussing a business transaction.

The cool, clipped tone should not have been arousing as it was.

“Lead the way.”

Ian’s bedroom was much like the rest of the house. He set his laptop bag down next to the door and casually pulled his jumper up and over his head. Harry’s mouth watered, staring at the intricate Celtic knotwork that traced down Ian’s back, disappearing under his waistband. Ian reached for his belt, glancing over his shoulder at Harry, “Well?”

Harry shrugged out of his suit jacket eagerly and fumbled for his tie. His movements stopped dead, however, when Ian dropped trou.

Ian raised an eyebrow when he noticed the stare, almost challenging as he said, “You can top if it’s going to be a problem.”

Harry didn’t think he’d ever been so hard in his life, and what did it say about him that all it took to get him into bed was an indifferent tone, a pretty face, and a massive cock?

“You’re topping,” he managed, tearing his shirt off so hastily that buttons popped. “Dear lord, I need that in me.”

“Good,” Ian rumbled, stepping into Harry’s space and reaching for his belt. Harry’s knees went weak as Ian undid it, sliding it sensually from his belt loops. Ian’s lips were still quirked up in that casual smile, and he slid his hand a little lower, squeezing Harry’s cock through his trousers. Harry nearly sobbed, grabbing onto Ian for support, his muscles hard as rock under warm, silky skin. “Easy there,” Ian said, removing the touch – which, in a way, felt worse. “I’d hate it if you didn’t make it to the main event.”

“So would I,” Harry muttered fervently, regaining enough sense to shuck off his trousers and pants. Ian backed him up, pushing him to sit down on the bed, and then knelt before him. Harry’s cock pulsed in anticipation, but Ian merely peeled his socks off and then moved to straddle him idly. He reached for Harry’s glasses, cradling them like they were fragile.

“Do you mind?”

“Go ahead,” Harry breathed. Merlin hadn’t said a word since he’d crossed the threshold, presumably cataloguing anything of interest he’d seen downstairs. She would probably prefer not to watch what was about to happen next.

Ian plucked the glasses gently from his face and set them on the nightstand, then climbed off of Harry. “Turn over,” he said, and Harry scrambled to obey, going to his hands and knees in the centre of the bed to give Ian more space.

Ian walked to the nightstand, and Harry watched him, eyes fixed on the soft cock between his legs. He licked his lips absentmindedly. It was large already, more than satisfying, but would it get even larger as Ian grew hard? He needed to find out more than he needed to breathe.

He wasn’t prepared to look up and meet Ian’s eyes, and he flushed as Ian pulled a container of lube and a condom from the nightstand drawer, setting them beside Harry’s head before climbing behind him. He slid his hands up Harry’s sides, and Harry pressed his forehead to the mattress, arching his back and presenting for Ian, offering himself out like a common whore.

“All that shame,” Ian murmured. “It’s just an act, isn’t it?” Harry’s blood ran cold before Ian continued, “Deep down, you’re just a desperate slut, gagging for someone to fill you up, make you whole.”

“ _Please, Ian_.”

Ian reached for the lube, and Harry nearly breathed a sigh of relief. He heard the cap snick, and then the pad of Ian’s finger stroked over his hole. Harry relaxed into the touch and was rewarded with Ian pressing deep inside.

He worked Harry open clinically, falling silent in favour of stretching him thoroughly. Four fingers were enough to make Harry whine, and when he glanced down between his legs, he could see flashes of Ian’s cock, gradually hardening as he prepared Harry to take it.

It was almost certainly getting bigger.

“Condom, please?” Ian asked casually, withdrawing his fingers from Harry’s body with a soft squelch of lube. Harry fumbled it too him, and nearly panted at the sound of the wrapper being torn. He strained, looking over his shoulder to see Ian stroking himself, his cock fattening under his hand as he worked himself to full hardness. The look on his face was ecstatic, and Harry’s cock dribbled out a pulse of precum at the image.

Ian’s eyes opened, catching Harry looking. He held eye contact as he rolled on the condom and lined himself up with Harry’s hole. The mushroomed head felt massive against his entrance, and a bolt of panic shot through Harry.

“Wait,” he panted.

“I thought you wanted my cock.” Ian’s voice was still casual, but there was an undercurrent of uncertainty to it that soothed Harry’s own.

He pressed his forehead to the mattress, eyes closed and shaking. He wanted it. He wanted it more than air. Ian didn’t move, that gentle pressure holding on his rim, just barely nudging into Harry.

“It’ll fit,” Ian assured him gently. “Look at you, Anthony. So desperate for my cock, so scared of what you want. You just need someone to use this pretty hole of yours, to bend you over and fuck you like a pretty little toy. Would you like that? To be my little fucktoy?”

“Yes,” Harry breathed. His eyes were tearing up.

Ian stroked his side with the hand not steadying his cock. “Relax,” he breathed. “Just relax for me. I’ll go slow.”

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he exhaled. “Do it.”

“I’ll stop if you need me too.” But Ian’s voice had gone clinical, and Harry shocked himself with the way his cock throbbed at it. Ian pressed forward, and Harry’s mouth opened on a silent scream as Ian penetrated him.

Harry was no stranger to getting fucked, and he wasn’t even a stranger to getting fucked by men with large cocks. But nothing, flesh or toy, had prepared him for the way Ian split him open, his cock forcing its way inside, making room as it pushed deeper and deeper.

“Almost there,” Ian cooed. “You’re taking it so well. It’s almost in.”

By the time Harry felt Ian’s balls against his arse, he was full to bursting, biting so hard on his lip he could taste the blood. He didn’t think there was room for another millimetre.

Ian pressed his forehead to Harry’s back, just between his shoulder blades. One of his hands cradled Harry’s hip; the other lay parallel with Harry’s elbow, bracing himself against the bed. His voice was rough, almost indecipherably thick as he said, “That’s it. That’s all of it. So good, sweetheart, you did so well.”

Harry wanted to preen at the praise but moving was impossible. “Please,” he gasped out.

“Please what?” Ian nosed against Harry’s shoulders. “What do you need?”

Harry’s voice was broken. “Fuck me,” he whispered. “Don’t be gentle.”

He felt Ian’s lips stretch into a grin. “If that’s what you want.”

Harry nearly protested as he felt Ian drawing out, until only the tip of his cock was still inside, and then screamed as Ian slammed back inside, his hips slapping obscenely against Harry’s thighs. Ian set a punishing pace: long, hard thrusts that ground him deep into Harry, as if trying to force him to open up even more, make space for even more of his cock. Ian’s grunts were animalistic, snarling as his pounded into Harry, occasionally murmuring the fake name Harry had given him or dropping a word of praise. Harry ate it up, crying out against the mattress, his cock bobbing and leaking untouched between his legs, but he didn’t dare lift a hand to it. Each one Ian’s thrusts jolted him forward, and it was only his arms planted on the bed that kept him from crashing into the headboard.

“So good,” Ian grunted. His breath was hot against Harry’s skin, his grip bruising against Harry’s hip. His cock was pulsing inside Harry, thickening slightly, and Harry knew what that meant.

He arched back into it as best he could, a sound of surprise wrenched past his lips as Ian’s hand suddenly closed around his cock, the snap of his hips driving Harry forward into his grip. Harry was already close, making a mess as his precum slicked his cock and the sheets below, and it only took a couple rough thrusts from Ian to force Harry into orgasm, wrenching it out of him. He let out a sound of quiet distress as it forced him to clench around Ian’s cock, Ian groaning eagerly at the feeling and spilling into the condom.

Harry shivered as Ian stilled behind him, still pressed against his back, cock still buried inside him. His voice was hoarse when he whispered. “Dear god.”

“That good or that bad?” Ian mumbled against his back.

“Bloody marvellous,” Harry breathed. He slumped against the mattress, Ian a heavy but welcome weight on top of him. “I haven’t been shagged that well in ages.”

Ian chuckled, pushing himself off of Harry and getting up to dispose of the condom. “I’ll be right back.”

Harry waited until Ian left the room before he forced himself up off the bed, his limbs still uncoordinated from post-orgasm fogginess. He shuffled over to the laptop bag, fumbling with the zipper for far too long before he managed to withdraw his prize.

“There’s nothing on there, you know.”

Harry dropped the device with a yelp, falling back on his arse on the carpeted floor. Ian raised his eyebrows, proffering a wet cloth. Harry blushed, trading it for the laptop and cleaning himself up. “This…isn’t what it looks like?”

“You’re a lousy spy, you know that?”

Harry blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Ian strode over to the bed, stripping off the sheet efficiently and fetching new ones. As he started to remake the bed, Harry still gaping at him from the floor, he asked idly, “Which organization are you from?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ian spared him a glance, smoothing down the corners. “I’d guess Kingsman, from the tech. I’m sure your handler is worried sick.”

“What?”

Ian gestured to the glasses. He sat down on the freshly-made bed, reclining against the headboard, apparently unbothered by his continued nudity. “The signal’s been blocked since you crossed the threshold. I like my privacy.”

Harry rose slowly to his feet. “How did you know?”

“A lot of people watch me. Call me paranoid, but in my experience, they tend to all be watching for the same reason.” He patted the bed, and Harry sat down on the end of it. “What’s your real name, then? I sincerely doubt it’s Anthony.”

“I’d hardly be a good spy if I told you that, now would I?”

“Touché,” Ian chuckled. “Although, a good spy wouldn’t have been caught trying to steal my laptop.”

“In my defence, that was one of the best orgasms of my life.”

“I do my best.” Ian folded his arms behind his head, putting the knotwork on his biceps on full display. “Out of curiosity, did you flunk seduction training? Because it was laughably easy to disable you.”

“I was top of my class,” Harry said stiffly. “I just wasn’t expecting…”

“Wasn’t expecting what?”

“You to be so eager.”

Ian shrugged. “You’d be surprised how often people try to seduce information out of me. I’m not exactly going to turn down a willing bedpartner. Especially not one as attractive as you.” He winked at Harry.

Harry, for his part, was feeling uncomfortably exposed, although the nudity had nothing to do with it. “What do you mean, the laptop has nothing on it?”

“I mean,” Ian said, “that the only things even your best tech would find on that laptop are my work emails. Like I said, I’m relatively sure you’re Kingsman, and they’re already aware of those.”

The briefing had said something about Ian working as an IT consultant for some minor firms, and his emails were never encrypted. Kingsman had copies of all of them. “So why…”

“I assume,” Ian sighed, sounded very put out, “that people’s interest in my work has resumed because they think I have a new pet project?”

“Something like that.”

“They’re not entirely wrong.”

Harry blinked at the easy admission, and Ian cocked his head, grinning. “Would you like to see it?”

Harry nodded.

Ian hauled himself up off the bed. “Stay right there. I’ll be back.”

As he left the room, Harry picked up his glasses again. He put them on and tried, “Merlin?” No answer.

Ian returned with a small box in his hands. He sat next to Harry. “You understand why I won’t turn the signal off, yes?” he asked. “Don’t worry, the footage is still recording. Merlin will see it when you leave the dead zone.” He held out his hand, and Harry hesitantly set the glasses in his palm. Ian folded them shut and set them aside. He offered the box out to Harry. “Go on.”

Harry took it, turning the cube over in his fingers. “What is it?”

“It’s not dangerous,” Ian said, clearly noticing the careful way Harry was handling it. “I’m fairly confident it can’t be used for evil any more than a generic flash drive could. Unless the bad guys get extraordinarily creative.” There was an amused note to his voice. “It’s what a lot of the smart devices these days are trying to be. Except this one actually works. Hooks up to the internet, can be specially programmed to recognize audio cues, turn on lights and things. But it’s unhackable. The same sort of coding that’s blocking your glasses right now. Keeps the government, you lot, whoever from being able to get access.”

“Sounds a bit paranoid.”

Ian shrugged. “It’s only paranoia if it’s not true. Besides, that’s not the point. It’s about making life easier, safer for people.”

“It’s not very impressive, is it?” Harry couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. “You know, if I bring this back to headquarters, I’ll be laughed at for bringing in a glorified Alexa. They’ll think you’ve duped me.”

“Maybe I have.” Ian grinned. “Maybe you’re actually holding a doomsday device, and you’re simply taking my word for it that it’s a harmless household appliance. Or maybe I’m telling the truth.”

“How should I know?”

“You’re the spy. You tell me.”

Harry stared at the box. It was smooth, no obvious switches or dials. “I believe you,” he said. “You don’t much seem like the doomsday type.” He looked up at Ian, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. “Do you mind if I take it back anyway? Just for analysis.”

“Take whatever you like,” Ian said. “Just bring it back, would you? If they find it’s harmless? I have other prototypes, but that’s still the best piece.”

Harry stood up, reaching for his glasses. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to make sure someone returns it to you.”

“Or…” Ian’s hand closed gently around his wrist, and Harry frowned at him. Ian’s eyes were soft. “You could bring it in tomorrow? I’m sure I can arrange for Kingsman to get the message that you’re safe, and it really would be a shame for you to leave so soon.”

Harry blinked at him. “You want me to stay.”

“Aye.”

“Even though I’m an intelligence operative collecting information on you?”

“You could get a lot more if you stayed over. I’d make breakfast in the morning.”

“You cook?”

“I’ll order in breakfast in the morning,” Ian amended, grinning.

Without planning on it, Harry smiled back. “I’ll cook.”

“Oh?”

He straddled Ian’s lap, plucking the glasses from the bed and setting them on the nightstand where they belonged before wrapping his arms around Ian’s neck. Ian’s moved to circle his waist, supporting him. “I’ve been told I’m a rather good cook,” Harry told him. “And you might be right. About collecting more information if I stay longer.”

“Success of the mission and all,” Ian’s voice was teasing.

“Success of the mission,” Harry agreed. “Terribly vital.”

Ian brought their lips together in a kiss, and Harry promptly forgot about everything else. There would be plenty of time for Merlin to yell at him later. Right now, there were more pressing matters at hand.

And perhaps Harry truly was a terrible spy, because by the third round that night, Ian was calling him Galahad. By the fifth, the next morning, he was calling him Harry.


End file.
